


Oliver vs the Common Cold

by AcademyofShipping



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Coupledom, F/M, Fluff, caring for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 22:53:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4540491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AcademyofShipping/pseuds/AcademyofShipping
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver has a cold. Felicity takes care of him. She wouldn’t mind if he showed half the self-sufficiency he does when he has life-threatening injuries. Set beginning-ish of S4.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oliver vs the Common Cold

**Author's Note:**

> I imagined Oliver with a cold is like almost any other guy with a cold, completely incapable of taking care of himself.

“Felicity!” Oliver yelled her named, his voice hoarse. It was not Oliver’s typical “Green Arrow” voice. Nor was it his sexy time voice. This was nasally, phlegm-filled, I’ve-cough-too-much-and-now-my-throat-is-rebelling voice. It was day two of Oliver having a cold and Felicity was excited the weekend was nearly over.

"Yes, Oliver. What do you need?" Felicity yelled back. She was proud she didn’t sound as exhausted as she felt. She put her purse down and took a deep breath before venturing further into their place. In the kitchen, Felicity managed to not slam everything else in her hands on the counter. When she realized Oliver hadn’t answered her, she knew he was waiting for her to come to him.

When she stepped into their bedroom, the sight Oliver presented was the least sexiest she had ever seen him. She had seen him with bullet holes, concussions, and sword impales. But now Oliver's nose was red, chafed from tissues (though Felicity had made sure he had the tissues with lotion, per his request). His eyes were glassy, and though he was shirtless, his chest was covered in vapor-rub goop.

"Can I have more water? This water has gone flat." Though she had told him twenty or forty times whispering was actually worse for his voice than speaking normally, Oliver still insisted on whispering. Felicity almost told him again, but decided to save her own voice this time.

"Of course." Felicity took the nearly full glass from the night stand and turned back towards the door.

"Also, can you get a hot washcloth to get the vapor-rub off me? And bring me more vapor-rub? I think this dose has run out of smell."

Internally Felicity disagreed, but choose not to argue the point out loud. For someone who babbled almost every one of her thoughts out loud, Felicity felt she was censoring herself beautifully. "Sure. Anything else? Are you hungry yet?"

Oliver scrunched up his nose and buried himself in the covers as way of an answer.

"Okay, I'll be right back."

Felicity replaced his water, got a washcloth, and grabbed the vapor-rub. She would have kept it at the bedside, but she had left it there once and had walked in on Oliver putting more goop on himself then, with some pause, he wiped his hands on the sheets. Felicity had grumbled about the extra laundry; Oliver had grumbled about being exiled to the couch while the sheets were being cleaned.

She was thankful Oliver didn’t have a little bell to summon her when he needed something. Not that she knew where he would find a bell, though he could just use his phone. She had a vision of herself hearing a bell one too many times and losing the cool she had somehow been able to maintain all weekend, by breaking Oliver’s $300 phone and hurting his feelings. She had to keep reminding herself it wasn’t Oliver’s fault he was sick. He was more miserable than she was.

When she got back to the bedroom, Oliver just finished blowing his nose and added another tissue to Tissue Mountain, which was located immediately to the right of the trash can. Somehow when it came to tissues, Oliver had no aim.

"My nose hurts." 

"I know. I'm sorry. Do you want some water?"

"Not right now."

Felicity set the glass down on the table and wondered how long it would take for Oliver to ask her to replace it again, after only taking one sip. Ignoring the mean thought, she sat down next to him.

"Here's the washcloth."

Oliver looked up at her, eyes pleading. "Can you do it?"

"All right." If one could compete internationally for managing not to roll your eyes, Felicity knew she would be a shoe-in for the Olympic team. She shook out the washcloth to cool it down and then wiped it across his chest. Oliver closed his eyes, inhaled as deeply as he could from his mouth, and exhaled slowly. If Felicity was honest with herself, the task wasn't too bad. Having to touch his bare chest wasn't anything she would call work.

When she was done cleaning off his chest, she opened up the vapor-rub and scooped up a huge dollop. She tried to ignore its squishiness and its overpowering menthol smell. As she spread it across his chest, he moaned and then began coughing. Felicity turned her head away, trying to avoid his germ droplets.

"Sorry."

"That's okay," though mentally she tried to remember where she had left the hand sanitizer and the Emergen-C drink packets.

She finished spreading the vapor-rub and then wiped her hands on the washcloth. Felicity stood up, intending to go wash her hands.

“I never thought I’d say this, but it’d probably be better for you to put a shirt on.”

“I don’t have one.”

“You have plenty. I did your laundry after I washed the sheets.”

“I meant I don’t have a shirt in bed,” Oliver’s voice scratched out each word.

“Okay,” she said confused, not seeing the problem.

“Could you hand me a shirt?”

Felicity briefly considered asking him if the stupid cold broke his legs, but decided it sounded too much like her mother. And probably his. That was a place neither of them wanted to go, sick or healthy. Instead, Felicity went over to the dresser and picked what she knew to be his least favorite t-shirt; with its horrible straw color, a hole started in the armpit, and random stains all across it.

She went back to the bed and handed him the shirt. He looked at the shirt and then up to her. Felicity held his gaze, daring him to object to the shirt. Oliver must have decided survival dictated he keep his mouth shut, and put the shirt over his head.

She watched as he pulled his shirt down his torso. Despite her irritation, Felicity found herself thinking Oliver’s torso had a dictionary’s worth of definition. She couldn’t help the blush that warmed her face. Felicity turned to leave to wash her hands.

"Felicity?"

"Yes?"

"Can you read to me?"

"Why can't you read?" Felicity asked, then winced at the annoyance that accidentally colored her tone.

"The light from the tablet hurts my eyes."

"Let me wash my hands first, then I can."

"Thank you."

"But," Felicity stopped at the doorway, "you have to eat something."

"Ugh. I don't want to." The similarity between a grown up Oliver and any five-year-old boy was almost too much for Felicity.

"Feed a cold, starve a fever.”

"I thought it was the other way around," Oliver argued.

"No."

“I don't have a fever?"

"No, you don't."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Oliver. I just rubbed you down. I mean...you know what I mean. You don't have a fever. So you're going to eat. I just got back from getting you soup. You can handle soup."

"Is it chicken noodle?"

"Of course."

"Okay."

"I'll be right back." Felicity went into the bathroom and scrubbed her hands of Oliver's goop and germs. In the kitchen she grabbed a spoon and a dishtowel. Felicity gathered the towel around his soup carton. Back in the bedroom, Oliver was sitting up and her tablet was placed on her side of the bed. He eyed the soup with complete disinterest.

Felicity handed him the carton in the towel and the spoon. "Careful, it's hot." Oliver took a spoonful of soup and began blowing on it. He took a sip and winced from the heat. Felicity ignored him and sat on her side of the bed over the covers, leaning up against the headboard. Seeing he wasn't going to get any sympathy from her, Oliver slurped another spoonful of soup.

Felicity picked up her tablet and woke it up. She looked up at Oliver in surprise. "You want me to read you Harry Potter?"

"Yes," Oliver responded, his voice soft as he looked down into his soup. Felicity realized he was the one blushing this time.

She decided to be kind and not tease him, "Good choice."

Oliver looked up at her and smiled. Felicity returned the smile and admitted to herself he was cute, despite his red nose. She began reading and Oliver continued to eat his soup. After about 10 bites, he put his soup on his night stand and curled closer to Felicity, resting his head on her upper arm. The menthol smell followed him.  
After an hour, Felicity put her tablet down.

"I think there is a good place to stop."

Oliver yawned and stretched. He sat up on his side of the bed and pulled another tissue from the box. Felicity stretched her arms above her head, and exhaled in contentment when her back cracked.

"I have an idea," Oliver said.

"What's that?"

"You stay home from work tomorrow and we continue reading?" Oliver asked in a hopeful voice, despite his hoarseness. His pulled his eyebrows up, making his eyes as big as he could.

Felicity hesitated. She had been ardently trying to avoid telling Oliver the truth about her feelings, but she knew it was going to come out now. If she wanted to keep her sanity, and she did, Felicity didn't see another choice.

"Oliver, you know I love you, right?"

"Yes?"

"But I can't stay another day here with you while you're sick."

"Why?"

"For someone who is so stubborn about not resting after you get shot or beaten, it's amazing how much rest and attention you need for something so benign. Again, I love you. And if you need to me to take care of you in more life-threatening situations, of course I will. In fact, I want to then. But right now, with this little cold you're just so..."

"So what?"

Felicity lowered her voice along with her eyes, her hands were twisting around each other, "Needy. I'm sorry. I know you're sick, but you're never like this when it's something serious."

Oliver stuck his lower lip out. "It's okay. I have been a little needy. I guess I just like having you take care of me."

"Well, maybe you can remember that when, I mean if, IF you get injured again."

"I'll try. You go to work tomorrow. I'll manage by myself."

Felicity ran her hand through Oliver's hair a few times and kissed him on the forehead. "Thank you."

"Thank you for putting up with me. And if you get my cold, I promise I'll take care of you."

"You're not funny. I’m not getting sick."


End file.
